


Acceptance

by PorkChop



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Advice, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop/pseuds/PorkChop
Summary: In this, reader is dealing with an alcoholic parent, and Doofus Rick is there to comfort her. I wrote this one mainly for myself, but I thought I'd share it for anyone in a similar situation, or even for anyone who just wants some comfort from the lovely Rick J19Zeta7.I know the title is crap, so if anyone has any suggestions I'm all ears!





	Acceptance

I was never a deep sleeper. The slightest thing could wake me, whether it be a conversation in the next room, a light breeze… the smell of burning. I shot up in bed, taking a few deep breaths through my nose, trying to figure out whether I was imagining it. No. Something was definitely burning. I threw the covers off and ran out of the room, checking every room I passed before making my way down stairs. The lights were on downstairs, despite it being past three in the morning. I got to the kitchen, being greeted by chaos. There was a broken egg on the floor, discarded ingredients and cutlery littering the work surfaces, eggs and baked beans bubbling away on the stove, and the source of the smell; toast under the grill. I pulled it out, burning my hand on the grill pan handle, sighing as I saw the blackened bread; practically charcoal at this point. With the fire hazard taken care of, I ran my burn under the cold tap, watching a blister form on the heel of my hand. It was too damn late for this crap. Well, early might be a better analysis, given the ungodly hour my mother was still up at. 

“Oh, you're up. Want some eggs?” She asked as she entered the kitchen. Her words were slow and merged into each other. She'd started drinking at six on the dot, and it was evident she hadn't stopped since.

“No thank you.” I told her, not turning to look at the swaying, squinty-eyed mess I knew I'd find. “Your toast's burnt. I'll make you some more.”

“Oh no, I only nipped to the bathroom. Thought I'd taken it out from under the grill.” She said, frowning at the smoking toast. 

“No. Go and sit down, I'll finish it.” I said, drying my hand off with a paper towel when the burning subsided. 

“No, it's okay, honey. I'll do it.” She said, binning the burnt toast.

“Go on, sit down. I can't sleep anyway, it'll give me something to do.” I lied, finally turning to her and guiding her out of the room. Eventually, she accepted the offer. I took a deep breath once she was gone, then got to work on cooking some fresh toast. I gave the beans a stir, flipped the eggs, and cleaned up the mess she'd made. 

This wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. My mother tended to only eat at ridiculous hours of the morning, her medication messing with her appetite; only issue is, her drinking problem meant she was drunk most of the times she tried to cook for herself. This wouldn't be the first, or last, time I'd have to step in to help. It didn't bother me. Sure, I'd rather be sleeping, but at least I knew she had something in her belly to soak up all the beer. She wasn't a bad mum. Not at all, she was my best friend. That's why it hurt so much. I was completely powerless, I'd asked time and time again for her to try and cut down on the drink. Never once had she listened; only turned it all around and made out that I was 'picking’ on her. She couldn't seem to see that it was destroying me just as much as it was destroying her. 

Once the food had finished cooking, I dished it up for her, bringing it into the living room where she was sat having a cigarette, watching some late night TV roulette show. Thank God she wasn't a gambler to top it off, she just liked to guess the numbers before they came up. She was never right, of course. I handed her the food, she thanked me and tucked in, patting the seat next to her to ask me to join. 

“I should be getting back to bed.” I told her, rubbing my tired eyes. I looked down at my hand, which was starting to hurt again. Sighing heavily, I leaned down to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Goodnight, mum. You going to bed soon?”

“After I've finished this.” She nodded. 

“Okay. Love you.” I said, turning to leave.

“Love you too.” She called back. I climbed the stairs with a lump in my throat. I'd had a few weeks away from uni, and every time I was home long enough to see how bad things were, it made me feel worse and worse. I climbed back into bed and shed a few tears before going to sleep. 

The next day entailed a regular trip to the supermarket. Mum dragged me with her at least three times a week, and every time I didn't need to ask what we were going for. Occasionally we'd pick up bread, milk, something for lunch. But outside of the large shops we did to buy food for the next week or two, our frequent visits had one purpose. Two large crates of beer; twenty cans in each. Forty in total. It'd last a couple days. Sometimes we'd buy them two days on the trot, 'just in case we can't come again for a few days’. It became rather embarrassing at times. The checkout people knew us, knew what we always bought, sometimes they'd joke.

“Having a party?” they'd say, amusement on their faces. My mum would just laugh. I'd cringe. 

It got to the point where I could tell she was self conscious about it. I'd ask her what we needed to get. She'd stay silent for a while, then list off something I knew we didn't need. Or we'd be in the supermarket, she'd have a cart full of beer and would pause to think of something else we could get. She acted like we needed extra bits and bobs, but I knew it was because she didn't want to go through the check out with just beer for the second time that week. 

And the sheer amount of money that went into it… I didn't want to calculate it.

I needed a break from it. I needed to have a night off watching her poison herself, I needed to spend the day with her sober, and remember her that way when I went to bed. So when six o'clock rolled around, I left the house. I texted Rick, asking him if he was busy. If he was, I'd book out a cheap hotel or something for the night, but I couldn't deny that I craved to see him. He was a little bright light that made everything around him disappear, and Lord knew that's what I needed. To my relief, he texted back quickly, letting me know that he was just finishing cooking dinner and he'd like for me to join him, if I wanted to. I picked up the pace, walking the short ten minute journey to his house.

He gave me his usual beaming smile when I arrived, holding the door wide open to welcome me into his home. I wiped my feet on his doormat before stepping inside, shrugging my coat off and hanging it on it's usual peg by the door.

“It's lovely to see you, (y/n). Th-thank you so much for joining me for dinner, i-it's nice to have company.” He said, closing the door behind me and straightening out the blue checkered apron he was wearing over his sweater. My mood lifted instantly, and I mirrored his huge smile.

“Thank you for having me. I… I fancied getting out of the house, and I can never say no to a meal cooked by you.” I told him, rubbing my hands together to warm them up. We'd had a chilly few days, even a few flurries of snow, but Rick's home was toasty warm.

“C-come through, it's almost done!” He said, leading me through to his kitchen, urging me to take a seat at the little round dining table in the corner. He had a vase full of flowers in the middle of it, as usual, this week it was a combination of lilies and these little yellow flowers that I didn't know the name of. “We have homemade sweet potato and carrot soup, with some tasty salad on the side and fresh baked bread. I hope that's okay for you.” He told me as he served up the food.

“That sounds perfect. Thank you.” I smiled, even though he couldn't see with his back to me. “I love that you make your own soup, I usually only have it out of a tin.” I giggled.

“Well, the potatoes and carrots came out of my garden. I-I-I sometimes have so many, I don't know what to do with them. Soup's a good way o-of making use of them.” He explained, bringing over two bowls of soup and placing one down in front of me, before placing the other one on the spot next to me. Next, he carried over a bowl full of dressed salad, and a wooden chopping board with sliced bread on it. It all smelled so delicious. “S-same goes for the salad. It's all home grown and fresh from the ground!”

“Can't beat it.” I grinned. “So everything here has had your heart and soul put into it. It's going to be delicious.” 

“Well,” he blushed deep red as he took his seat next to me. “I should admit, th-the bread was bought from the bakery this morning.” He told me sheepishly, and I chuckled.

“I just watched you slice it. That's good enough for me.” I teased with a wink, and he smiled in amusement. The first mouthful of soup had me humming in appreciation. Rick was the best cook in the world, I was sure of it. Every meal he made was to die for.

“Th-there's plenty left, feel free to have seconds when you're done. A-nd I'll even give you some to take home.” He said. I shook my head and held a hand up to him.

“Oh, don't let me steal it all. I know you like to save your leftovers for your lunch!” 

“Please. Um, I wasn't kidding when I said I have so much veg I don't know what to do with it. Y-y-you'd be doing me a favor by taking it off my hands!” He admitted. I laughed, patting the back of his hand.

“Well, in that case I'll take as much as you can give me.” I grinned. He smiled back, nodding his head eagerly. We fell quiet after that, and in the silence I noticed that he had the radio on. He was playing some Bob Marley quietly in the background, and the entire atmosphere served to drain me of any tension.

I ended up having two bowls full of soup, and Rick seemed impressed by my appetite, pleased that I enjoyed his food so much. I insisted on doing the dishes while he sat down and relaxed. I divided the leftover soup into two airtight tubs, and popped them in the fridge with the leftover salad. The bread was wrapped back up in the paper bag it came in, and placed in the wooden bread bin. Once the kitchen was nice and tidy, I joined Rick in the living room where he was working on a jigsaw puzzle. He was sat cross-legged on the floor, all the pieces spread out around him. I grinned ear to ear at the sight.

“Would you like to join me?” He asked. “Don't feel obliged. I-I know some people find them a little tedious…”

“I'd love to join you.” I said, taking a seat opposite him. He handed me a cushion to sit on, since the antique Persian rug underneath us offered little padding from the hardwood floor. Rick's house was full of interesting antiques. Most of which were collected from markets and car boot sales across the country. The rug we were sat on had been in terrible condition when he'd bought it, but he'd spent hours meticulously cleaning and repairing it, reweaving damaged areas by himself. He was extremely resourceful, and his talents seemed to have no end. The rug looked beautiful now. 

“This is a ten thousand piece puzzle. I just recently spotted it in a thrift store, s-so let's hope all the pieces are there!” He said, handing me the box with the picture on. It was a group of wild horses galloping through a dusty, isolated landscape. It was a very beautiful image, and like Rick, I hoped that there weren't any missing pieces, so we could see it in its entirety. “I like to st-start at the edges and work my way in.” He explained with a smile, sifting through the pile of pieces. He'd already made a start, having joined a few pieces together, revealing what seemed to be the blue sky.

“I might be slower than you. I haven't done a jigsaw in years.” I warned, and he shook his head.

“It doesn't matter how long it takes us, it will be nice to work together.” 

Rick hummed along with the music still playing quietly. He always paused to give an excited little gasp every time he found the right puzzle piece, and to my surprise I found myself doing the same. I didn't think I'd have so much fun doing something as simple as a jigsaw puzzle, but I realised that anything with Rick was going to be enjoyable. He had a way of making me enjoy the little things. I had a handful of puzzle pieces, inspecting each one carefully, when I heard Rick give a different kind of gasp. I looked up at him in question, noticing that he was looking at my hand.

“H-how did you do that?” He asked me. I realised he was referring to the nasty burn on my palm. I dropped the puzzle pieces and he reached forward, taking my hand in his. 

“The grill pan handle got really hot, and I stupidly grabbed it.” I told him with a sigh. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked. I shrugged.

“A little.” I admitted. He rose to his feet, leaving the room for a moment. When he came back, he had a little woven basket in his hands. He set it down, and I peered inside; it was full of first-aid items. 

“Y-you should really dress it. Otherwise it could- you could hurt yourself even more.” He told me, and I nodded.

“I was really tired when I did it, it didn't even occur to me. I'd only just woken up, it was the middle of the night.” I explained, and he gave me a puzzled look.

“I-if it's alright for me to ask… what were you doing cooking in the middle of the night?” He asked me. I stared at him for a while, unsure of how to answer. He sensed my discomfort, shaking his head as he pulled a bandage out of the basket. “Not to worry. Let's get this covered up for you.”

“No, it's okay. It was food for my mum. She… she burned toast and I had to step in.” I said, and a look of understanding passed over his features. He nodded and took my hand in his again, inspecting the wound.

“H-how, um, how is she?” He asked hesitantly. I took a shaky breath.

“Same as usual. I just… I notice it more when I'm not at uni.” I explained. He watched me carefully, his eyes were sad and I had to look away. I felt myself becoming emotional, but I didn't want to put him in the uncomfortable position of seeing me cry.

“Um, I know it's not quite my place to say… but I'd like to share something with you, if you don't mind.” He said, beginning to wrap my hand up in a bandage. He worked so carefully, I barely felt his fingers moving over my hand; he was being overly gentle, trying not to hurt me. 

“I don't mind.” I said, looking back up at his face. He had a look of concentration on his face, a slight frown curving his brow. 

“I… I've told you about the alternate versions of myself, do you remember?” He asked, and I nodded. Pretty hard to forget that one, I thought. “Well, I didn't really tell you that, um, I-I-I'm quite different from them. They- ah, it's difficult for me to explain. They don't like the things I do and they act very differently, but that's not what's important. The thing is, they- a lot of them suffer with, uh, they drink very heavily.” He said, clearing his throat. “Alcoholism is very common among Ricks, and so I have a predisposition to struggle with it myself.”

“Is that why you don't really drink?” I asked, and he nodded his head, giving me a little smile as he finished dressing my hand. He brought my hand to his face, giving my palm a light kiss. Butterflies erupted in my tummy at this, and I flipped my hand over so I could entwine my fingers with his. 

“I used to drink. And f-for a while I was quite- I had a difficult time. Th-that's when I decided to stop. Since then, I've been okay. Y-you know I have the occasional glass of wine with dinner, but that's all.” He said, and I nodded in understanding. “But, if you noticed; I said I _decided_ to stop.”

I stared at him for a while, trying to figure out the underlying meaning to his words. After a moment, he stood up, urging me to do the same. He guided me over to the sofa and we sat together, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“I don't want to make you feel hopeless, that's not my intention. B-but I understand that you put a lot of pressure on yourself, don't you?” He asked. I thought about this for a while and I had to agree. I nodded and looked up at him. “I want to help you to stop doing that, b-because it's not worth it. I decided to stop. And that's the only reason; nobody convinced me.”

“Oh. I see what you're trying to say.” I sighed, looking down at the ground.

“I'm sorry, beautiful. I-I-I don't want you to spend your life worrying about something that you can't change. The truth is, your mother will make her own decisions, and I know that it's difficult to accept, but… but nothing you do is going to effect that decision.” He said. It was quite blunt, but deep down I knew that he was right. I'd always known. All the hours I'd spent crying with her, begging her to get help, it wasn't going to do anything. She was a grown woman, she made her own choices. If she wanted to stop, she would. If not, well… 

“I see. You're right, Rick. It's just very difficult to sit back and watch it happen, you know?” I said, and he nodded, his expression sympathetic. 

“I know. I-if it helps, you're very welcome here. Any time you feel the need to get away.”

“Thank you.” I whispered, turning and leaning into his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his arm tightening around me.

“Th-there's nothing wrong with you being there for your mother, or loving her, or even worrying about her. But it isn't your job to babysit her. Y-you're her little girl, sh-she should be the one looking out for you. Don't give yourself a job you didn't apply for, you see?” He spoke quietly, stroking his hand up and down my arm and resting his cheek against the top of my head. I nodded. “If you want to come over here whenever she starts… um, j-just know I'll always open my door to you. W- uh, would you like to stay the night?”

“Yes please.” I breathed, relief allowing my shoulder to sag, my muscles to unfurl. 

“I lo-” he started, then paused and cleared his throat. “You mean an awful lot to me, (y/n). S-seeing you sad makes me sad, a-a-and I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“Were you about to say-” I looked up at him, a flutter of excitement in my stomach. I paused and shook my head, not wanting to put him under any pressure. “Nevermind.”

“N-no, I uh, I mean… I was.” He said timidly, chewing on his bottom lip with those adorable crooked teeth of his. “I'm sorry.”

“You can say it. I'd like to hear you say it.” I whispered, stroking my hand over his chest. He caught my hand in his, drawing patterns on my palm with his thumb. He looked at me for a long while, his eyes moving back and forth between my own, searching them for something. I didn't know what. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, it seemed, because his confidence grew.

“I love you.” He told me, and a smile broke out across my face.

“I love you too.” I replied. I craned my neck and kissed his cheek, and he laughed shyly, glancing down at our hands as he flushed. 

“D-do you r-really mean that?” He asked me.

“Of course I do. I've never been more sure of anything.” I assured him, and he seemed to believe me. He grinned wider than he had all night, then leaned down to press a single kiss to my lips. Rick's kisses were more often than not very timid. They were brief and soft, and they always left me craving more. I rarely pushed for more, though, preferring to move at his pace. On occasion, I was rewarded for my patience, and Rick would find the confidence to give me more than I could ever hope for. Times like that were what my dreams were made of, and I treasured them, their rarity increasing their value like a precious gem. They were always worth waiting for.


End file.
